Uneaten by Death
by TheHaydinPanda
Summary: "Master Malfoy, what do you know of the Deathly Hallows?"


Prologue

Some voices are musical. You could listen to them for forever and never want them to stop speaking. Others are ok. They're tiring after awhile, but they're friendly, so you associate them with good memories. Yet others are grating, pounding on the eardrums and gradually killing every gram of happiness left over in your soul. And then there is the voice of Harry Potter, a creature all by itself. It draws me in yet fills me with an odd urge to smother it. My friends are amused at me, but I'm not sure as to why. You'd think they'd be annoyed. I know I rant all the time about him, and I'm trying to figure out my obsession, but it sometimes appears to be a secret that everyone shares without me.

I really shouldn't even be dwelling on someone so trivial at the present. I should focus on the task at hand. If I don't perform adequately, the consequences will be insurmountable. Maybe I'm okay with that. It could be nice to slip into nonexistence. Of course, death would be preceded by unbearable pain, but the promise of lack of worry is alluring. Perhaps I just think about it too much. Unfortunately, I would not be the only one to suffer, and the others involved don't deserve it. My parents aren't bad people. My father made many bad decisions while ill informed of the retribution. The act which he thought would save our long line of pureblood ancestry in actuality endangered it the most. I've had many siblings, though none of them took a breath. The stress on my mother prevented her from carrying any more children to term, and now the three surviving Malfoys are at a constant threat of extinction.

So I have to do it. I have to kill Dumbledore. I've bought myself time twice now. I put a pseudo-fatal curse on a necklace and gave it to a curious Gryffindor girl whom I'd placed under an Imperius curse. I knew full well that it would never make it to the headmaster, if it made it to Hogwarts at all. The ploy worked, obviously, until a few suspicious Death Eaters threatened my mother's life if the next attempt did not bring results.

Last time, I put deadly poison in a bottle of champagne and gave it to Slughorn to gift to Dumbledore. I had figured that when Dumbledore drank, he would have the potions master present to administer a bezoar to counter the effects. After all, the headmaster must live if the Dark Lord is to finally die. Unfortunately for me and Mother, Slughorn instead gave the champagne to none other than that ginger weasel to whom Scarhead took such a liking. Of course, he still had Slughorn there, but the obese idiot apparently forgot that bezoars exist, so Potter, Savior Potter, had to save Weasley.

At my fault, Mother was tortured, and she lost this baby as well. I have no choice. I'm out of options. I have one purpose, but I still have life, so I fill it with the sounds of voices. Flitwick's, Pansy's, and Potter's.

The door creaked behind me and I lost my train of thought.

"Draco?" _Blaise._ "You look haunted. What's gotten into you lately?" After nothing besides an incredulous look from me, he continued, "Snape wants you in his office."

 _Oh, Merlin. He's going to tell me I'm running out of time. I'm not ready!_

"Now," insisted Blaise. I jumped, glanced at his confused expression, then rushed out of the dorm.

Outside of Professor Snape's door, my mind frantically tried to come up with excuses for my procrastination. When I thought I had one that could buy me a week, I forcibly relaxed my face and raised my hand to knock. Before I could bring my hand down, the door flew open and Snape brushed past me and said, "Follow." I tried to read him, but he was long gone, billowing robes flowing around the corner at the end of the hall. I ran to catch up.

I wondered where he was taking me. Perhaps to the owlery to send a letter to the Death Eaters that I couldn't follow through, or maybe to some hiding place of his where he keeps articles of dark magic. When I realized we were instead heading for Dumbledore's tower, my heart rate picked up and I started to sweat as my mind fell into a panic-stricken haze. I couldn't possibly kill Dumbledore now. Snape had previously offered to kill him for me, so he knew I was too weak, but it may have been a trap. That would explain why he'd take me to do the deed now, when I can't get out of it and he could claim the Dark Lord's praise when he was the one to finish the old man off. The gargoyle seemed to sense my apprehension, and glared at us as we approached.

"Jammy dodger," Professor Snape spat, and the statue leaped aside. Snape burst through the doors, pushed me in roughly, then charmed the exit behind us with a locking and silencing spell. Then he spun around to address the headmaster. "Albus."

"Severus. I take it that you found the wisdom in my words."

"Unfortunately," Snape drawled, "I have. Young Malfoy needs to be in on your plan, however." I wondered what the bloody hell was going on. "The task required of him might break him if he doesn't know of its implications." I started to realize that Snape may have been an Order spy after all, and Dumbledore confirmed it.

"You are quite right, Severus, as you usually are. I suppose he must know everything. I haven't explained it to Harry yet. Perhaps we should wait?"

"If Potter knows you are to die, he will stop at nothing to prevent it." Now I was thoroughly confused. Why would Scarhead know that I have to kill Dumbledore?

"Quite right," Dumbledore replied. "Master Malfoy," he turned to address me for the first time, "What do you know of the Deathly Hallows?"


End file.
